


put your head on my shoulder

by vityenka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Canon Compliant, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Domestic Fluff, Engaged Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, It's all fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unbetaed we die like men, i wrote this in a half hour, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:13:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vityenka/pseuds/vityenka
Summary: Yuuri never used to think of himself as a particularly affectionate person. He likes hugs from his family and Phichit, and rarely anyone else. He’s not usually forthcoming about his need to be near others, the itch of being lonely that needs to be scratched. It’s good enough to sit in the same room sometimes, never touching but close by that it would only take a simple stretch of fingers.Things change when Viktor arrives.-how to be close, how to be in love.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 16
Kudos: 167





	put your head on my shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! i hit a short writers' block where i had no idea what i wanted to go with. i've started all types of au's and just not worked on them, so i wrote this short and sweet thing and wanted to share it. i've been really busy lately! classes have started, along with my new job at the university, and my friend gave us their snake! so much is happening! 
> 
> anyway, i hope you all enjoy! let me know what you think in the comments <3333

Yuuri never used to think of himself as a particularly affectionate person. He likes hugs from his family and Phichit, and rarely anyone else. He’s not usually forthcoming about his need to be near others, the itch of being lonely that needs to be scratched. It’s good enough to sit in the same room sometimes, never touching but close by that it would only take a simple stretch of fingers. 

Things change when Viktor arrives. 

Months pass by in a blur of tangled legs, shoulder touching, deft hands adjusting the most sensitive parts of Yuuri that make him want to melt into the floor and climb up inside Viktor’s body, feel him curl around Yuuri like a blanket. It’s disconcerting how close he wants to be, all the time. Viktor is receptive and gives as good as he gets, even more clingy than Yuuri is. He’s constantly hugging Yuuri, touching him. Their fingers brush so often Yuuri has accepted the shiver racing up his spine as normal now. The way Viktor looks at him, too; like there’s something he wants to peel back and look at, no matter how ugly. Yuuri would let him if he asked, if he wanted to see the most vulnerable, painful parts of what makes up Katsuki Yuuri. 

Yuuri lets him in Beijing, lets him peel back those layers and see through the cracks in the fence. He lets him climb the trellises, scale the ivy-covered brickwork until he’s inside the house Yuuri’s built around his heart. The way they tangle together after the free program, the way Viktor’s hands traverse the entire landscape of Yuuri’s body, an adventurer striking gold everywhere he goes. Viktor is thorough, fascinated. Viktor looks at Yuuri like he’s never seen anything quite like him before. 

That’s why Barcelona hurts so badly. That’s why it tears Yuuri apart to say  _ let’s end this,  _ to stuff towels into the cracks, to keep the outside world out; to keep Viktor out. The gold on his finger weighs heavy, like an anchor sinking to the bottom of the sea, dragging Viktor along with it. Yuuri hates himself for what he’s done, the life he’s forced upon Viktor by asking, in a drunken fit, to be his  _ coach.  _ It isn’t fair, he has to cut the cord. 

Except Viktor won’t let him. Viktor claws his way back to the surface, pulls Yuuri with him and when they’re lying on the floor of the arena after everyone’s cleared out, silver medal and a promise of five world championships between them, Yuuri burns the whole house down. 

  
  


Moving to Russia is a conversation over a period of months. Yakov laughs in Viktor’s face when he mentions wanting to return for Nationals, and Viktor takes it surprisingly well. He pushes Yuuri harder than ever, dragging him through exhausting practice after practice until his legs are jelly and his quads are clean. Viktor packs efficiently, both his and Yuuri’s rooms, allowing Yuuri the opportunity to rest. He notices the way Viktor has been working, though, harder than ever. He’s out on the ice before Yuuri, cleaning up his quads and his form after eight months out of competition. 

Makkachin is rarely there in the mornings now, running alongside Viktor down at the beach until he comes to collect Yuuri for practice. It becomes a routine for Yuuri to wake up to a cold bed. 

Viktor still crawls in with him at night, bone tired after a day of practice and packing. His broad chest breathes a steady rhythm along Yuuri’s back, and he falls asleep to the sounds of Viktor’s soft snores combined with Makkachin’s doggie snuffles. 

Japanese Nationals pass by, landing Yuuri with a gold and the weight of Japan resting on his shoulders once again. Viktor thinks he’ll be sent to the Olympics, and frankly Yuuri wants to die thinking about that. When he tells Viktor this, Viktor just runs his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, presses a kiss to his forehead, and holds him until the anxiety in his chest unwinds itself and he can crawl into Viktor’s lap for some cuddles. 

  
  


Then, they move to Russia. Viktor’s apartment is sleek and modern, and not-Viktor. Yuuri resolves to change this as soon as he has his bearings. Jetlag is a bitch, and it seems like this time it won’t be letting him off easy. He collapses in Viktor’s king-sized bed, in Viktor’s room, and falls asleep. He wakes up sometime around five and hears the steady sound of Viktor against his ear. Viktor’s breath tickles his cheek, his hair fluttering softly. Viktor lets out a small snort and Yuuri grins into the plush pillow. There’s a heavy weight resting on his feet, and he doesn’t need to move to know Makkachin is splayed out across their lower halves. 

Yuuri falls asleep for another hour, at which point Viktor rolls on top of him in his quest to get to the toilet. Yuuri groans and nearly smacks him in the face, and Makkachin  _ boofs  _ and bounds off the bed. Yuuri watches Viktor stumble around the room, almost bash his face into the wall, and finally get into the bathroom. The door shuts softly behind Viktor, and he hears a fan turn on. It’s still dark in the room, the blackout curtains having been drawn at some point in the night. Yuuri rolls over into Viktor’s spot, still warm, and smushes his face into Viktor’s pillow. There are a few stray silver hairs and it smells like him, like his forest-y smelling shampoo, and the undertone of ice and tea that seems to follow Viktor everywhere. 

Yuuri smiles, clutches the sheets closer to his body and blinks sleepily at the closed bathroom door, waiting to see a sleepy Viktor emerge. It’s his favorite sight. Viktor’s hair curls a bit when it isn’t done, and it’s wild when he’s just woken up.

Viktor doesn’t disappoint. A moment later the door swings open and a sleep-mussed Viktor emerges, all messy-haired and bleary-eyed. He’s wearing his black briefs and a sweater, running a hand through that silvery nest. Yuuri wriggles happily and reaches a hand out to welcome him back into bed. They don’t have anything to do for the day, and Yuuri is all too eager to take advantage. 

Later, they crawl out of bed to take Makkachin for her walk and find breakfast. There isn’t anything in the fridge, so they walk a few blocks away to a cafe Viktor swears by. It’s chilly and Yuuri is bundled in a soft sweater of Viktor’s, a forest green color that Viktor likes on him. They sit at a table inside and drink their coffee, share a scone and a breakfast sandwich between them, and Viktor tells him all about Makkachin’s favorite park. 

Yuuri compares his first day in St. Petersburg to his first day in Detroit. It’s hard to fairly judge, seeing as he’s here with his fiancee and he knew no one else in America, but the anxiety that had been hanging over his head has dissipated for now. For now, Yuuri allows himself the freedom of simple touches, domesticity in the form of his future husband and their dog. They walk back to their apartment, and Yuuri sets about unpacking all the knick knacks and soft things that make home  _ home.  _ Tomorrow, they’ll go to Yubileyny and Viktor will introduce him to the Russian skating team, but for now Yuuri contents himself with the simple comfort of being with Viktor. 

Viktor brushes past him on the way to the kitchen for a cup of tea, and Yuuri turns to kiss his cheek. Viktor practically melts, dragging him in for a sweet kiss that leaves Yuuri’s heart thumping out of his chest and his cheeks blushing a pleased red. Viktor cups his face and smiles at him, so heart-wrenchingly sincere in his love that Yuuri wonders how he could have ever doubted Viktor’s devotion. 

Tomorrow, the anxiety will come back. Yuuri will meet people he has never met before, begin training in a new country surrounded by a language he doesn’t know, and he will cry when he gets back to the apartment. But he knows, too, that when he cries Viktor will make him a cup of his favorite tea that he had Yuuri’s mother send to them. Viktor will curl up next to Yuuri on the sofa and put on Yuuri’s favorite movie that he asked Yuuri’s father about. Viktor will wrap them in the blanket he brought from the onsen, that smells like home, and he will hold Yuuri until he’s done crying, until the anxiety has unwound itself from his chest. Viktor will still struggle to properly comfort him, and Yuuri will laugh until he cries again because Viktor is so sincere, so true to Yuuri, that he will make a fool out of himself if it means Yuuri will feel better. 

Tonight, they cook dinner side-by-side, eat at the table that has rarely ever seen company. Viktor teaches Yuuri dirty phrases in Russian, and praises him in Japanese. They go to bed at a reasonable time, used mugs in the sink to be washed tomorrow, sports bags already packed for the next day. Their shoes are lined up together at the door, two coats hanging on the weird coat-rack-slash-chair that Viktor is oddly proud of. 

Viktor presses himself up against Yuuri, chest-to-back, hip-to-hip, and when Yuuri falls asleep, Viktor is snoring against his neck, Makkachin is snuffling at his feet, and the blankets are warm with the scent of home. 

**Author's Note:**

> i love these two so much. i hope you liked it! let me know what you thought! comments make me so happy <33333 my twitter is @kaaaaaaden if you wanna come cry about these two with me.


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